For Shelley

by Melissa Gammill

Seven years
your elder,
I sometimes freeze
gaping mouth
-disbelieving your
goddess-like proximity
at thirteen.
Bronze legs and a smile
your eyes, green seawaves
banking on a blessed shore.
You possess the song of future
humming gallantly
across the hills of new beginnings.

So raise your voice
to the winds of praise
-oh goddess of sisterly wonder-
and reflect your songs of everafter
against these shields
of Aphrodite-less days.